McLovin' It
by QuoteVampyre
Summary: Alfred doesn't eat. Alfred won't eat. And Alfred thinks he can't eat. A green-eyed outcast with an empty wallet is intent on changing that. USUK
1. Eat Your Heart Out

**A/N: **Alfred doesn't eat. Alfred won't eat. And Alfred thinks he can't eat. A green-eyed outcast with an empty wallet is intent on changing that. USUK

I shouldn't have written this.

Hetalia © Himaruya Hidekaz

Anorexia, Depression, etc. © that whore

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><p><strong>McLovin' It<strong>

"It's not that I don't _want _to eat. It's just… painful."

Sitting across from Alfred, he simply raised his eyebrows critically.

"I mean, like, I really don't even get hungry anymore. And on the rare occasion that I do, my brother always has pancakes ready to eat. But when I do eat, it makes me sick. I'm not a masochist; I don't like pain."

His eyes flashed with doubt.

"I'm telling the truth! Only an idiot like Ivan would like pain!"

A triumphant, bitter smirk danced across his obliviously handsome features. Alfred stepped away from the mirror, disgusted with himself.

"And I'm dating Ivan. So what does that make me?"

_That makes you pathetic_, said a scathing voice from his mind. _That makes you desperate. Admit it, you're worthless._

Alfred F. Jones attended Hetalia High School with his twin Mathieu Williams and boyfriend of two years Ivan Braginski. He wasn't the most popular- that title was easily claimed by the star couple Feliciano Vargas and Ludwig Bielschmidt- but he wasn't a complete outcast like his brother. Mathieu was dating Gilbert Bielschmidt, brother to Ludwig and a delinquent detested by almost everyone. Normally, Mathieu wouldn't hang out with anyone- and he was okay with that- but Gilbert was friends with the other two troublemakers Francis, who was dating a punk named Arthur, and Antonio, who was dating the foul-tempered Lovino Vargas; thus making up the outcast crowd of Hetalia High School. Not wanting to put a damper on their hard earned social status, Alfred, Ludwig, and Feliciano rarely associated themselves in public with their respective brothers. Still, as much as Alfred tried, he never found himself to be "good enough".

So here he was, talking to himself in the mirror in the early hours of the morning. Despite spending the whole night wondering, he couldn't remember if today was Saturday or Thursday. He went through this every day. Maybe deep down he knew precisely what day it was, but logic was shoved aside by his immense desire to stay in bed all day long.

Collapsing on his bed, Alfred closed his eyes as tears threatened to fall. _I don't want to go to school. It's _awful _there. It's like having to win a marathon while running in mud… while the opponent has wings. _Of course, how was he supposed to explain this to his parents? It wasn't like he was being bullied. And what other possible reason could there be for wanting to avoid social interaction? _Simple, _he thought. _I'm sick of smiling. _

Nonetheless, when there were thirty minutes left to get ready before he had to be on the bus, he threw on some clothes and brushed his teeth. Even though it was hot as hell outside and inside, he put on his leather bomber jacket. It was another layer that kept people from seeing his gross body. Grabbing his backpack, he flashed a million-watt grin at his brother as they headed toward the bus stop.

When the bus finally came, he took a seat next to his best friend Kiku Honda. They jumped into a heated discussion about the new Pokémon Black, and Alfred almost forgot about the nagging that filled his head… almost. Kiku could make him smile, really smile; but the smile touched his eyes and not his heart. No smile was genuine anymore.

They got off at the school and Alfred left Kiku in favor for Ivan. His Japanese friend went into the cafeteria to be with Ludwig and Feliciano, while Alfred was forced to spend his morning with Ivan's friends. Friends was a loose definition, seeing as Toris, Eduard, and Raivis only stayed with Ivan because their parents made them; Feliks was there for Toris; Yao was really the only one who hung around Ivan willingly. Contrary to popular belief, Alfred was not stupid. He knew very well that Ivan was cheating on him with Yao, but he didn't care. He needed that love, however false, that Ivan provided.

Alfred and Ivan left to go put their soccer and lacrosse bags in their seventh period class: History. There were a couple of students taking tests, so Alfred and Ivan dropped their stuff of before heading back to the commons. After about twenty minutes of superficial conversation, the bell rang and the American headed off to his first class. It was awful.

He couldn't stand sitting through English class while Mathieu and Gilbert had eye sex from opposite sides of the room, and _that posh bastard _behind him being perfect. Every time Alfred would get the sentence structure wrong, Ye Olde Eyebrows felt the need to reprimand him even though they never talked to each other otherwise. Thankfully, they didn't do grammar often so as soon as the DGP- Daily Grammar Practice- was over, Alfred got to tune out the class. He had read ahead in their current book, so the teacher didn't care that he slept for the remaining forty minutes.

His next class was the only one he shared with Ivan besides History, and potentially his worse class. It wasn't that he sucked at math- no matter how much everyone said he did- he just didn't care. Despite the fact that he was so close to being kicked off the Soccer team, the Golden Boy couldn't bring himself to try. And even though he was more or less failing, the teacher let him sleep, while the people who passed were forced to stay awake or stand up for the entire period.

At the end, Ivan walked him to science, lingering outside the door with Alfred. "I'll see you at lunch, da?"

Alfred beamed at his boyfriend. "Totally! I'll save you a seat."

Alfred took his seat in the back next to Ludwig. The stoic blond gave a brief nod to acknowledge the other so he could continue working on the bell ringer.

And so the routine continued till his fifth period. His lunch started as soon as the bell rang, so he had ten minutes to kill before Ivan came with Yao. Luckily, Toris also had A Lunch. When the brunet had gotten his food, he took a seat next to Alfred.

"How've you been?"

"Awesome, as usual." He flashed another million watt grin as the two fell into a steady flow of conversation.

Ivan and Yao sat down next to each other, already deep in discussion. Toris didn't seem to notice the hurt that flashed in Alfred's sky blue eyes.

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><p>It's an unusual feeling, embarrassment. You're never really sure when it will come up; and no matter how much you do to avoid the feeling, it traitorously paints your cheeks red, wets your armpits, and shakes your knees. Alfred knew that no high school relationship lasts forever despite what Hollywood would like him to think. He knew about the loving glance passed between Ivan and Yao. He knew. But he didn't know it would end like this. With the two lovebirds kissing sweetly on the field, in front of Alfred, and the lacrosse team- Mathieu included.<p>

Mortification spread like rapid venom through Alfred's veins. This was much worse than getting up and reciting a monologue. Much, much worse. Desperately trying to ignore the snickers and smirks- he didn't have to look to know they were there; they _had _to be there-, Alfred attempted to walk steadily over to his brother- damn legs, stop shaking!

"I just came to tell you I won't be home for dinner. I'm going out with some friends, so just eat without me." A lie. He had no intention of eating, but he didn't think he'd be able to go home and face _anyone _now. As a matter of fact, he hadn't come to lacrosse practice to talk to his brother. He had come to flirt with Ivan.

Stiffly turning around, Alfred marched away before the tears could leave his glistening blue eyes.

And yes, he was being watched, but not mockingly. No, Arthur Kirkland would never mock Alfred F. Jones and mean it.

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><p><strong>AN: **dun dun dun~ TBC

The reason Alfred's not playing football and Ivan isn't playing hockey is because it's springtime, and where I go to school, there isn't a hockey team so I don't know the schedule of it (though I'm making a wild guess and saying it's winter). The main sport right now is soccer, with lacrosse coming in second.


	2. Road Kill Soup for the Anorexic Soul

**A/N: **The second chapter! It focuses a bit more on Arthur and his thoughts of Alfred, but there's still plenty of Alfred's thoughts.

Thank you for the reviews, faves, and alerts! They mean a lot to me. Also, I'm technically grounded right now, so I don't know when I'll be able to get the next chapter up.

**McLovin' It**

"There's a flaw in your plan."

Alfred, who had successfully left the school building behind, whirled around in shock at the accented voice. "-the fuck? Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I ought to be asking you the same thing."

The two blonds narrowed their eyes at each other, and Alfred started back on his trek to nowhere. "Leave me alone."

"You're an idiot." Arthur struggled to keep pace with the long-limbed boy.

Alfred's mouth twitched as he fought to keep his anger down. He shouldn't be mad at Arthur; after all, he was the only one with enough balls to say what everyone else was thinking. _Finally_, Alfred released an inaudible sigh when he succeeded in snuffing out the anger. He did not succeed in suppressing the fresh tears.

"Shit- are you crying? Damn, I didn't mean it like that." Arthur raised his hands up in defense, but Alfred just shook his head.

"Nah, man; it's fine. But I'm not an idiot. I knew Ivan was cheating on me."

"Then why-?"

The taller one just shrugged, effectively cutting him off. Arthur wasn't dense; he could tell that Alfred didn't want to talk. They walked in silence for a while until Alfred spoke up. "How is there a flaw in my plan?"

Arthur raised a thick eyebrow, then both in recognition. "Oh, it's just… well, we live in the suburbs. This isn't a city, so where are you going to walk to? …Assuming you aren't fond of getting run over by a car."

"Don't tempt me," Alfred muttered under his breath. Louder, he grumbled. "I figure it's not that hard to cross about six lanes of traffic during rush hour. Everything's at a standstill anyway."

"Don't tempt Fate, Alfred. Mathieu wouldn't be happy if you became road kill."

"Speaking of road kill…" The two stopped at the site of a grotesque opossum splattered across the road.

"I have an uncle who would call that a meal," Arthur pointed out.

"I heard that in Louisiana they eat crocodile tails. Dad says it tastes like chicken."

They started walking again with no place in mind. It didn't look like it would rain any time soon, so neither was very concerned about foul weather interrupting their impromptu stroll. "My boyfriend Francis likes snails. Despite that, and the fact that he's a frog, he's a decent cook. Don't tell him I said that," he added as an afterthought.

Alfred just laughed. "I guess he is, but after I came in on him and Mattie eating poutine, I can't hold him in very high regard."

Now, say what you will about Arthur ranking in the high school caste system, but what he lacked in social skills he easily compensated for in observation skills. After all, when you're as good as him in detecting hidden themes and symbolism, you tend to notice subtle things. Like Alfred's increasing awkwardness with the conversation about food, as if the teen wasn't sure if what he said was acceptable. As if he was afraid of what Arthur would think if he said something tasted good; as if Arthur would think him a pig, or worse, _fat_. That paired with the fact that Arthur had never seen Alfred eat anything at lunch, and Arthur came to the conclusion that Alfred had an eating disorder.

Not letting his face show that he knew Alfred's dirty little secret, Arthur kept up his end of the conversation until they reached the main road. As predicted, the sea of cars weren't moving much, if at all. "I'm starving," the Briton announced.

"Yeah, it is about dinner time." Alfred glanced at his watch, distaste lacing his words.

"Well, I don't have much on me, so how does McDonalds sound?"

Alfred adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "Um, y' see, Artie, I don't really know you…"

"But you know me enough to butcher my name. Therefore, I think it's safe for us to go eat junk food together." Arthur cocked an eyebrow critically as if he was waiting for Alfred to mess up in his cover story.

_Maybe he's right. It's just one McDonalds. If I eat this, I'll just have a _really _light snack tomorrow and I'll be fine. And if he wants to go out again- but why would he want to? He probably just thinks I'm fat and disgusting. Oh God, what if he tells everyone on facebook about how I eat. He wouldn't do that. This is Arthur Fucking Kirkland! He doesn't have any friends! He's a good kid, after all; a bit of a punk, but a good kid nonetheless. He doesn't talk bad about people like I do. Of course, it's not like people just bring up randomly "Oh my god, did you see how much he was eating! He's gonna pop a button if he keeps that up". Still, some topics just appear and you can't help but contribute. No, it'll be safer if I just politely decline. Yeah, I'll do that… But damn, it's just. One. Meal. And really not even a meal. Does McDonalds count as a meal? Oh well, I'm not that hungry, so it'll fill me up. _

Alfred abruptly snapped out of his thought process to shrug at the shorter blond. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

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><p><em>I'm so fucking stupid.<em> Alfred clutched his stomach, writhing in pain and self-loathing on his bed. The navy sheets provided no comfort and Alfred was regretting his afternoon with every futile toss and turn. _I should've _known. _I should've _thought_. It was stupid and thoughtless of me. This always happens, dammit! _

With a graceless lurch, Alfred shot off the bed and into the bathroom he shared with his brother. This had been going on for hours, but since it was well into the night, the sick boy had to be as quiet as possible. Nearly every time he ate, this gross routine would occur. So to prevent it from popping up at inconvenient moments, he avoided eating. But he couldn't avoid eating around Arthur.

As Alfred kneeled in front of the toilet water, only one thought was running through his head. _He knows. _

**A/N: **I firmly believe eyebrows are the greatest form of expression.

A bit shorter than I wanted, but I kind of wanted to drop it off at that.

So, Arthur knows, and Alfred finds out he knows. I also felt the need to show that Alfred isn't just anorexic because he doesn't want to eat. He also gets sick when he eats (because he doesn't eat enough to really be used to it).

TBC


	3. Apology

I really loved this story. I really loved writing it. Even more, I really loved the feedback I got on it. But it was only intended to be a one-shot, and each chapter I wrote was short and moved too quickly. I still love this idea, but every time I try to go back to it, the story ends up going somewhere else entirely (one rewrite consisted of superpowers idk how though). I will either rewrite the entire thing (superheroes or not and it most likely will not be called McLovin' It), or I will delete the chapters and just post a really long one-shot in its place.

However, I'm currently focusing on drawing and I have a lot of requests to finish. Writing is on my list of things to do for myself, but that list kind of takes a backseat when up against schoolwork and stuff I have to do for others. The only time that I might be able to take up writing again is May through July (and that's doubtful).

Thank you for your support, and thank you for not sending me hate.


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